That TEXT and other stories
by Ms. Issues
Summary: Sometimes Bruce uses texting to parent, other times he just likes to mess with Dick. Dick receives a text from Bruce while he's in class. Plus other one shots involving The Bat Family and their technology, home life and whatever hits me.
1. That Text

The idea came to me while I was at work so I typed it out real quick during my lunch break.

**I do not own Young Justice or anything in the DC universe…just a huge fan.**

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><p>You would think that having Batman as a guardian would offer some pretty interesting texts.<p>

You would be wrong.

Bruce and Dick never exchanged texts that might reveal their hero identities. That, of course, did not stop Dick from imagining what those texts would look like:

**OMG scarecrow brok out **

**BC pnched GA. . . . LMFAO**

**WTF Supes fails agn**

**Caught Jkr W00t!**

Of course, Dick knew that if Batman did text he would never text like _that_. Dick could dream, though, couldn't he?

As for the texts Bruce did send—since he was not always necessarily around, either doing Wayne Enterprises related work or upholding League duties—let's just say his texts took helicopter parenting to a new level.

His texts looked something like this:

**Homework done?**

**Home yet? **Which was Bruce's short subtle way of saying you-should-have-been-home-five-minutes-ago AND just-because-I'm-not-there-does-not-mean-I-do-not-_know_-you-are-out-passed-curfew. Dick thought that particular text was _really_ unfair. Robin was allowed to go trapezing off rooftops in the dead of the night, getting shot at no less, and, yet, Dick had to be in by nine pm. Ridiculous. Although, if Dick had to be honest that was more Gotham's rule than Bruce's. The city had a nine pm curfew for unaccompanied teens that were not going to and from work or a school related event. Still, he was _freakin'_ Robin. What hero had a curfew?

Then there was the most common text he got from Bruce:

**No.**

And Dick's least favorite:

**I know what you are doing**

Ominous.

_Very_ ominous.

Dick would not deny that he did have a tendency to get into mischief. He could not help it—he was a 'live in the moment' type of guy. He also had a huge helping of humor that people just _seemed_ not to appreciate fully.

The first time Dick had received that ominous text had been years ago shortly after he had finally adjusted to living at the Manor. There was a function and he had been about to pour some joke shop bought powder into a gargantuan crystal punch bowl. It would have turned the teeth green of anyone who drank from it. In Dick's opinion, it would have been the perfect prank. This was because there was an hour delay from the moment the person drank to the point when their teeth turned green which maximized the number of people effected substantially.

But then Dick had received a text. _I know what are you doing.  
><em>

Prank terminated.

The second time Dick received that text, Bruce was not anywhere near Dick. In fact, he was on a completely different continent. Dick had climbed a tree, the ridiculously tall tree in Barbara's backyard, and was doing tricks on its branches much to the delight of Barbara. Barbara's aunts, however, were not so delighted. They were completely _exlighted _and totally freaking out which was _also_ much to the delight of Barbara.

And then Dick had received that text. _I know what you are doing.__  
><em>

Monkeying around . . . successfully terminated.

And so it went over the years with Dick receiving _that text_ at just the right moment.

Dick knew that Bruce _officially_ had no superpowers, but he was not really sure if that was true. He swore that man had to be psychic. He just had to be. There was no other reason as to why the man could possible know that he was up to something.

So, Dick had checked. He probably had spent at least a total of a couple weeks over the last four years trying to figure out how Bruce always seemed to know when he was up to something. Dick found no GPS tracker on him and there were no hidden cameras following him around. After the Watch Tower had been built, he had suspected maybe Bruce was using the Tower to spy on him. Martian Man Hunter swore he knew nothing of the sort. Dick still suspected though. Even now, he would occasionally glance suspiciously up at the sky.

The truth was far simpler than what Dick's imagination had created. For Bruce had no idea of truly knowing when Dick was up to something. The Billionaire simply understood how Dick's mind worked. The boy was incredibly intelligent, a little bit too curious, and _way_ too much of a thrill seeker to not be either doing something or at least thinking about doing something that he probably should not be doing. Bruce figured that if he randomly sent out _that text_ there was a 97% chance of it being timely appropriate.

He did not send _that text _out often, just enough to get Dick thinking about his actions. Even though he never asked Dick if he actually had been up to something at the time, Bruce knew it worked.

Super Nanny had nothing on him.

AND it was just fun to do. The looks Dick gave later on at home were priceless.

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><p>2010<p>

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><p>Dick was sitting in the back of his history class in the middle of texting Wally when he received another text. It was a text from Bruce. Dick finished his message to Wally and pressed send. Then he looked at the text Bruce sent him. It read:<p>

**Dinner at Azzari's? **

Azzari's had the best pizza in Gotham. Dick was so excited that he did not even think before replying.

**Sweet! **

Less than 30 seconds later he received another text from Bruce.

**Why are you texting in class?**

Dick's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He re-read the text. Leave it up to Bruce to text him and not want a response. And why was he getting in trouble for it? The man had texted him while he was in class—Bruce had texted_ him_. He had to know he was in class, _had to_.

How was he supposed to respond to that?

If he responded, he would be texting in class. But Dick _really_ wanted to explain that he had not meant to text in class and that he was only replying as a curtsey. After all, Bruce could not possibly have known that he had also been texting Wally. Right? _Right?_

__As Dick contemplated this, he received another text from Bruce. He sighed and opened it up reluctantly.

**I know**.

I know? _I know?_ That was worst than I know what you are doing!

Dick looked out the classroom's big windows, his eyes narrowing at the cloudless blue sky. He swore he could see the Watch Tower. He looked back at his phone and then back out the window. He frowned slightly. Ignoring an incoming text from Wally, he slipped the phone back into his book bag. Dick looked out the window again suspiciously before scooting his desk away from the window, all the while ignoring the curious stares of his classmates.

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><p>Fifteen blocks from Gotham Academy, high up on the top floor of Wayne Towers, Lucius Fox stopped paying attention to the boardroom meeting and looked at the man beside him. Bruce Wayne had that sly smirk on his face, that I'm-messing-with-Richard look Lucius had come to know.<p>

The grey speckled haired man shook his head. "You leave that poor boy alone."

Bruce chuckled and put the phone back into his suit pocket.

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><p>Thanks for reading! Please Review.<p>

If you haven't read my other stories go check them out!


	2. Spoiled

**Chapter 2: Spoiled**

Thanks for the reviews and reading my story! I did not think I would get such a huge response.

Summary: Clark thinks Dick is spoiled. More fluffy then the first chapter. Dick is 11

Got the idea because I was rereading some comics and a came across my Batman and Robin #20 when everyone (Bruce, Tim, Damien, Dick, and Alfred) is about to watch a movie and Dick sees the new TV and says "is that _only_ a 50 inch" and Alfred says "I do believe it's the size of a car and will suit our needs." The TV ends up being a 70 inch. Spoiled much?

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><p>Summer 2008<p>

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><p>It was a hot summer day and Bruce lounged poolside under a lawn chair and an umbrella. On the glass table next to him sat a large glass of Pina Colada. The atmosphere was exactly the way the man liked it, nice and quiet. Behind shaded lenses, he closed his eyes ready to doze off. For a second everything was the way it should be, but then he felt a presence beside him. Without even opening his eyes, he knew who it was. If he had less dignity he would have groaned in annoyance. Instead, Bruce opened his eyes, looking over his sunglasses, to meet the large smile of Clark Kent.<p>

So much for peace and quiet, Bruce knew he would not get any now. His eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too Bruce," said the man completely unfazed by the bristly attitude. Clark's smile grew even brighter. It was a good old American boy scout smile. Bruce grimaced at the cheesiness of it. "I was in the neighborhood and I dropped by."

Bruce took in Clark's attire, his completely cape-less attire. "You _happened_ to be in the neighborhood in your swim trunks."

Clark grinned sheepishly. "It's _really _hot."

Bruce gave him an annoyed look.

Clark's smile faltered. "_Come on,_ you know I don't have a pool."

"Maybe next time your lease ends, you should move to an apartment with a pool, instead of always coming over here to use mine."

Clark's shoulders slumped ever so slightly. "You know how expensive it is to live in Metropolis. I can't afford an apartment with a pool on a reporter's salary!" The boyish grin slipped back on Clark's face. "Besides, you hardly use your pool anyway."

"I'm using it right now."

Now it was Clark's turn to give Bruce an annoyed look. Bruce looked bone dry.

"_And_ Richard uses the pool all the time."

Clark looked at the Olympic sized pool in front of him. No boy wonder in sight.

"He's in the trees."

Clark almost rolled his eyes. Of course Dick was in a tree. They should call him monkey not Robin. Clark smiled at the thought, Batman and Monkey. It sounded ridiculous, but then again so had Batman and Robin at first. Clark scanned the nearby tree line and spotted a tree house. Dick was sitting on one side of the tree house feet dangling off the edge.

"That's new."

Bruce did not say anything, just took a sip from his Pina Colada.

Clark remembered building a tree house with his pa when he was little. It had been so much fun. "Hey Dick!" Clark waved.

Dick looked up and waved back while holding something on his lap with the other hand.

Clark narrowed his eyes, using his super-sight to get a closer look. It was a laptop. Dick stopped waving and was now typing something. Clark frowned and looked back down at Bruce. "Is the tree house hooked with electricity?"

"Yup."

"What kind of tree house has electricity?"

"A Wayne tree house."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "You just _let_ him climb up a tree with a laptop."

"I do not see why I would not."

"What if he drops it?"

"I will buy him another one."

"What if he drops _that_?"

"I will buy him another one."

"Well . . ." said Clark getting frustrated. "What if he drops that one?"

"I will buy him another one. Clark, do you not see the pattern here?" Bruce swiveled the drink in his hand. "But feel free to ask again. It is not annoying, _whatsoever_."

Clark's eyes widened slightly."You can't just keep buying things he breaks . . . it will spoil him and he won't learn responsibility."

Bruce tapped a finger on his Colada glass in annoyance. "Dick is _absolutely_ responsible."

"I'm not talking about Robin. I'm talking about Dick."

Just as Bruce was about to defend his ward, there was a yell from the tree house. Both men looked up.

"Oh my god! Not again . . ." Dick swung down from the tree landing perfectly on the grass below and picked up the two pieces which were once his laptop.

Clark looked back down at Bruce. "Not again? What number is he on?"

Bruce paused in thought, trying to think of a number. There were the laptops Dick broke because he dropped them, the laptop whose hard drives got ruined because of hacking related stresses, and the laptops he took apart, but never put back together again. "I don't recall."

Clark looked at Bruce in disbelief.

Dick looked at his two split laptop pieces and then across the pool at Bruce. "It's broken! Can I have a red one?"

"Sure thing!" Bruce took another sip of his Pina Colada.

Clark threw his hands in the air. "Do you not see what I am saying?"

Bruce pulled off his shades to glare at the man."You show up unannounced to use my pool and then you have the nerve to reprimand me? Really, Clark?"

Clark had enough decency to feel embarrassed.

"Besides, it is not like you do not give Dick things."

Clark shook his head vigorously. "Me buying him an ice cream and souvenir whenever I take him someplace does not qualify as spoiling. You buying him an R2D2, an _actual_ R2D2 from the movie set, because he likes Star Wars is spoiling."

Bruce opened his mouth.

"The kid has, like, ten bicycles! What kid needs ten bicycles? "

Bruce shrugged. "I have twenty-six cars. I do not see why he cannot have ten bicycles."

"Way to miss the point, Bruce. You do not need twenty cars."

"In my defense, some of them are classic," said Bruce with another shrug. "Besides, I like to be prepared."

Clark snorted."For what? The day you try to go to work and for some reason all twenty five cars fail to start and only the twenty sixth car works?"

"You make that sound improbable. It could very well happen."

Clark looked at Bruce incredulously. "Name one instance where that would actually happen."

"Aliens invade earth and discharge a massive EMP disrupting all electronics. By luck, the twenty sixth car works."

Clark's mouth opened and then closed. He frowned.

Bruce smirked.

"_Anyway, _since we are on the topic of excessive amounts, how many game consoles does Dick need?"'

Bruce was not even going to bother answering that. "Aren't you the one who is always saying that I need to let him be a kid?"

"And your way of showing that is buying Dick whatever he wants."

"You can't put a price tag on love," said Bruce flashing a stellar smile.

"Yes, but you sure are giving it a try."

Bruce slipped his sunglasses back on. "One day when you and Lois have a kid, maybe you will understand."

Clark folded his arms. "My kid is not going to be spoiled he's going to have strong _American _work ethic, like my pa taught me."

Bruce snorted. "All right, _Smallville_."

Clark glared.

Bruce brushed off the glare; after all, it was not very intimidating. "You said 'he.' What if you have a girl? Are you really going to sit there and tell me she would not be spoiled?"

"That would be different," said Clark nonplused. "She would be a girl."

"Don't let Diana hear you say that."

A silence filled the air between the two men and for a second Bruce thought he had managed to shut the Man of Steel up.

"What happens if you lose all your money one day?"

Bruce chuckled. "If there is ever a time I lose all my money. I would have more things to be worried about."

"Like what?"

Bruce smirked. "The collapse of the economy."

Clark rolled his eyes."You do not have to be so smug."

"You only feel the way you do, because you are not use to money." Bruce leaned back into his chair. "Dick will turn out just fine. Mary and John Grayson raised a well grounded kid. Besides, I grew up with money and I turned out okay."

Clark almost let out a bark of laughter . . . almost. Sure Bruce was _fine. _Dead parents aside, deciding to go into crime fighting at the age of twenty one just because you were a billionaire with an unlimited access to the newest technology was _totally_ normal.

He sat on a lawn chair next to Bruce. "I'm not even going to touch that comment with a ten foot pole."

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><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


	3. Closed Doors and Shouts

**Chapter 3: Closed Doors and Shouts**

This one turned a little serious, but there is still some humor. There are time jumps and I have Dick in Bludhaven simply because I liked that Nightwing had his own city in pre-52. That fact that he was a cop for some time was even cooler.

There were certain things Alfred and Bruce had to get use to after taking Dick in. Dick was a sociable boy. He loved to talk and be surrounded by loved ones and friends. He was a _very_ chatty boy. Unfortunately, there was a nasty side effect to that. Well, to be fair, it was more startling than nasty.

Dick _loved _barging into rooms.

Dick _loved_ barging in to rooms yelling for whoever he wished to talk to.

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><p>2006<p>

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><p>It was around six months after Dick had arrived at the Manor. Tony Zucco had been apprehended and Dick was finally adjusting to the Manor and becoming more comfortable while within Bruce's and Alfred's presence. It was around this time, Alfred experienced his first <em>incident<em>.

"ALFRED!" Came the yell of nine year old Dick, followed by a loud bang as the bedroom door slammed on the doorstop of Alfred's bedroom. Alfred, who was taking a well deserved and relaxing bubble bath, froze. He must have heard incorrectly; After all, in his world, people did not come into rooms uninvited. This was particularly true if one was having a bubble bath.

Dick came to a stop just inside the bathroom door completely oblivious to how large Alfred's eyes had widened. Dick began to prattle about what happened at recess much to Alfred's alarm. Dick talked and _talked_ and _TALKED_ and Alfred remained silent through all off it, too shocked to speak.

Dick paused in his story, realizing the man was not laughing at the appropriate parts. Dick had told the story to Bruce earlier and his guardian had let out a few chuckles. If Bruce laughed, then Alfred should have been in stitches. Dick frowned in displeasure until he noted his surroundings. His blue eyes grew wide. "_Oh_."

Alfred blinked.

Dick grinned sheepishly. "Am I making you uncomfortable?'

Alfred blinked again. "A little, Master Richard."

Dick frowned.

"A restroom is not really an appropriate time to hold a conversation," said Alfred looking pointedly at the door.

Dick did not get the hint. "That's _not_ true," he said shaking his head. "Girls have conversations in bathrooms _all_ the time." And then Dick, much to the exasperation of Alfred, began to recount all the times he overheard the fairer race talking in various bathrooms.

"There was this one time in Barcelona . . ."

As Dick talked, Alfred looked up to the ceiling in disbelief. For this really could not be happening.

"And this one time in London . . ."

Alfred rubbed his temple, mustering all his patience. _It would be over soon_, he told himself.

"And this one time in Istanbul . . .'

Alfred slumped back in the bathtub as he remembered with slight horror that Dick had grown up in a traveling circus. _But really_, thought Alfred, _the child could not possibly have many more stories about women talking in restrooms._

Alfred was wrong.

Dick continued on and on and on . . . about Paris _and_ Moscow _and_ Dublin _and_ Dubai _and_ Milan _and_ New York _and_ Quebec _and_ dozens of other cities and countries. Alfred might have found some of Dick's stories to be insightful on a cultural level if he had not been so disturbed.

Later, Alfred had attempted to modify Dick's behavior and Dick did learn all the proper etiquette appropriate for a Wayne, but he never could stop his barging habit.

"And the shouting of names, Master Bruce," complained Alfred after yet another barging incident.

"I am sure he will grow out of it," said Bruce. But Bruce did not mind. He rather enjoyed Dick's rambunctiousness and he knew Alfred did too. The Manor was alive with Dick around which they both preferred over the somber quality it had held before. And, oddly enough, for all of Dick's barging, he miraculously never barged in on Bruce at any compromising adult situations.

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><p>2010<p>

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><p>Bruce placed one hand under his chin while the other hand carefully shaved the left side of his face with a razor. There was something soothing about mundane grooming rituals especially on a lazy Sunday morning when Wayne Manor was dead quite and beams of sunlight filtered through the closed blinds of the master bedroom dissipating the darkness within.<p>

"BRUCE!" Dick's yell and the following loud bang of the bedroom door slamming on the doorstop shattered the blissful silence. Startled, Bruce's hand slipped and the razor nicked his chin. Beads of blood instantly began to pool from the wound.

Bruce dropped his razor and reached for a piece of toilet paper to stop it.

"Bruce," said Dick coming to a stop just outside the bathroom door. He was still wearing his pajamas. Dick's nose crinkled. "Do you know that you're bleeding?"

Bruce almost rolled his eyes as he tore a piece of toilet paper and placed it on the cut. _Did he know he was bleeding?_ Oh, what a question. Bruce estimated he had cut himself shaving approximately 103 times since Richard had come to live in the Manor (in truth, it was only 47 times, but when it comes to matters of the face, Bruce felt he was allowed to exaggerate).

So . . . _did_ Bruce know he was bleeding? Freakin' yes he did! Bruce doubted any other male had to deal with so many shaving mishaps.

Bruce started shaving the other side of his face. "What did you want?"

Dick opened his mouth positively vibrating with excitement and then paused, blinking twice. "Actually, I forgot."

"How can you forget? You _just_ came in here."

"That cut distracted me," said Dick with a shrug and then he eyed his guardian's face. "You really should be more careful shaving, Bruce." And with that said he walked away and out of the Master bedroom leaving Bruce looking after him in exasperation.

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><p>And Dick's barging in was not limited to the home, but also events . . .<p>

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><p>Wayne Manor was filled with socialites, politicians, businessmen, models, and anyone else hot enough to attend a Wayne Charity event. They were gathered in the massive Ballroom and many were dancing while a string quartet played.<p>

"BRUCE!"

Everyone jumped, several wine glasses shattered on the ground, and the music came to a screeching halt as everyone turned to look at the boy in the doorway.

_Such a loud voice for such a tiny person, _thought Alfred slightly embarrassed.

"Yes, Dick?" said Bruce unperturbed.

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><p>And as Robin . . .<p>

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><p>Bruce was in costume, but un-coweled. He was laying under the batmobile looking at the chassis with a flashlight.<p>

"BATMAN!"

Bruce's head shot up and hit metal. With a sigh Bruce rubbed his head. "Yes, Robin?"

Dick's head appeared masked eyes wide. "Oh gee Batman, that looked like it hurt . . . you should really be more careful."

Bruce rolled his eyes.

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><p>2015<p>

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><p>Eighteen year old Dick came to a stop at the top of stairs of the Batcave. "BRUCE!"The yell vibrated off the cold cave walls and echoed down below. Tim, who was unmasked, but in robin costume and practicing on the bars, fell with a loud thump on the mat. Bruce was not in the Batcave, but Tim never got to say so because Dick had immediately begun to talk about the Intel he had heard regarding a new drug ring near Gotham's east side. Dick stopped talking when he approached Tim who was still lying on the mat.<p>

"Why are you just lying there?"

Tim rubbed his head. "Why do you think I'm lying here?" He glared pointedly at Dick.

Dick looked up at the bars and then back at Tim. "Because you are not as good at gymnastics as me."

Tim blinked twice. It was the truth, but still, Dick could be amazingly obtuse regarding the obvious. "_No_, because you startled me and I fell."

Dick smiled as he helped Tim up. "Like I said, you're not as good in gymnastics as me." Dick looked around the cave."Where's Bruce?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "He's not here. Although, _you_ would have known that already if you had come down first before spouting off about the new Intel."

Dick ruffled Tim's hair. "Ok. Mr. Grumpy."

Tim waved Dick's hand away. "It hurt . . . _a lot_. Why do you always have to shout out people's names when you enter a room?"

Dick thought for a moment. "There's something selfishly satisfying about yelling someone's name out into the world and knowing they're going to answer it."

"If you lowered your voice a few decimals, I'm sure we would still hear you," Tim deadpanned.

Dick shrugged. "Maybe, but one day you're going to call out someone's name and they're not going to answer. Then you are going to wish that you could scream that person's name from the tallest mountain peak and that they would answer. "

Tim was quite for a moment thinking that Dick was referring to his dead parents. "Okay, I get _that_. But the whole _barging_ into rooms thing is a bit . . . annoying. I think you almost gave Alfred a heart attack the other day."

Dick chuckled. "I just do it. Why stand there waiting for doors to open? Sometimes you just have to barge in and hope for the best."

Tim really did not have much to say to that, but he filed it away in the back of his head like he did most things.

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><p>2017<p>

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><p>Tim was in a rush. It was a Saturday and he had been caught up at Bruce's for Robin reasons and was late to attend a science fair. He sprinted up the front stairs of the Drake Mansion and swung the door open. As far as he was concerned he didn't even have time to run up the stairs to his room to even get his project. His father, who spent most of his time in the study upstairs, would just have to get it for him.<p>

"Dad!" The name ricocheted of the empty walls of large entrance way. "DAD!" yelled Tim slightly annoyed. The name echoed again. Tim froze, his heart plummeting into the pit of his stomach.

His dad was dead. Captain Boomerang had killed him. It had been a month. Tim stared wide eyed at nothing. How had he forgotten that? Tim's shoulder slumped and he walked out, closing the door with a snap. No longer interested in the science fair, he wandered slowly back to Wayne Manor.

Tim walked into the Batcave. "Bruce," he said halfheartedly. But, Bruce was gone. He had left for the airport and was going overseas to attend a business meeting for Wayne Tech. Tim shook his head in dismay. How had he forgotten that? A coil of anxiety and despair was tightening slowly within him, a feeling he was trying to ignore. He told himself he was fine and took a zeta tube to the Cave.

At the Cave, Tim wandered through the training room . . .

"Conner! Megan! Cassie!"

Tim wandered through the living room, with his steps becoming a little more frantic . . .

"Jaime! Karen!"

Tim wandered through the kitchen, while his heart pounded . . .

"Bart! Garfield!

Tim wandered half a dozen other places, but the team had been dispatched on a several missions and no one was at base. The silence of the Cave chilled his bones. It seemed like everyone was gone and Tim was all alone in the world. His heart ached, his vision swam. He felt like at any moment his entire being would collapse.

Tim took a zeta tube to Bludhaven and ran through the city's gritty streets until he came to a rundown apartment. He ran up six flights of stairs and down a hallway.

Tim knew Dick would not be home. Dick was a cop now and he would be on patrol or down at the precinct or any other hundred locations in Bludhaven. But Tim did not care. He knew he had to go to Dick's apartment. Tim reached Dick's apartment and started banging madly at the door. "DICK!"

"DICK!" He shouted again and Tim banged on the door until it busted open to reveal a boxer clad Dick Grayson, who had already been rushing to the door, his face half lathered with cream.

"Are you okay?" said Dick in alarm.

Hearing Dick's voice, Tim collapsed to the floor in relief. He was not alone. _He was not alone._ He let out a sigh while Dick looked on concerned.

Tim looked up from his lying position and noticed a red bead forming on Dick's chin. Feeling better he said: "You really should be more careful shaving, Dick."

Dick frowned. He touched his face with one hand and examined it. A droplet of blood was smeared on a finger. "Oh." Dick eyed Tim again. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah . . ." said Tim slowly, "I'm just barging in and hoping for the best." Tim's eyes fell on the broken frame of the front door. "And you should really have a more secure door, Dick."

Dick glanced at the door and smiled a small smile.

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><p>Thanks for reading.<p> 


	4. Old fashioned

I saw that a few people had reviewed recently and thought, "Holy cow, I haven't updated in awhile." So, after a long wait, here is another one-shot.

**Ch. 4:** **Old fashioned**. Wherein Alfred has a problem with phones at the dinner table and Dick does some sulking

Forewarning, if you are one of those people who like Robin/Richard to be perfect all the time, this is not the chapter for you—he's sort of acts like a brat which I believe is totally believable considering the scenario and that he is a teen at the time. Dick is 14.

**I do not own anything DC related and I do not own Fruit Ninja.**

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><p>2011<p>

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><p>Dinner was not going to be served for another thirty minutes, but both Bruce and Dick had found themselves arriving early to the table. Bruce sat in his usual chair at the head of the table and Dick sat two chairs down in his. After talking about their days, the two both turned to their phones.<p>

A few minutes later, Alfred walked in and his eyes immediately went to Dick who was clearly texting. Alfred sniffed. One did not need a phone at the dinner table. He walked towards the teen."Master Richard, are you quite done?"

"Huh?" said Dick, eyes glued to the phone in his hand as he vigorously typed.

Alfred came to a stop right besides Dick's chair and plucked the phone out of the teen's hand. Dick's eyes widened. "Hey!"

"I believe that I have told you on countless occasions that there will be no cell phones at the table."

Dick pointed to Bruce. "You didn't take Bruce's phone!"

Bruce, for his part, stayed quite. From past experience, he knew that when Alfred and Richard argued it fizzled out rather quickly. If he joined in, he would only exacerbate this situation. Besides, he had better things to concern himself with—the new version of Fruit Ninja had just been released and he, Clark, and Barry had a competition going on who could get the best score levels.

Alfred frowned, not in the mood for petulant teenagers which seemed to be Dick's favorite mood lately. "Master Bruce is working."

"No he's _not_."

"Yes I am," said Bruce not looking from his phone. "Very serious business things are going on down here."

Dick's mouth opened in shock as Alfred simply nodded. "He's not even trying to sound convincing!"

"I am sure Master Bruce has important things to attend to," said Alfred.

_Like play Fruit Ninja_, thought Bruce inwardly pleased that he still had his phone, but then feeling silly that he felt that way. He could play on _his_ phone at _his_ table in _his_ house if he damn well pleased. He paid the bills. He paid taxes. He was a grown ass man! Although, if Alfred took his phone away he would never say any of that out loud.

Dick twisted in his chair to glare at Alfred properly. "He's playing Fruit Ninja!"

"I am not playing Fruit Ninja," said Bruce, caught off guard—_how had Richard known?Boy Wonder, indeed_. Momentarily regretting teaching Dick to have keen detective skills, Bruce looked up to see Dick glaring at him and Alfred glaring at Dick.

"Yes you were," said Dick, unwilling to let the issue slide. "You were making that face you always make when you get frustrated with a level."

Whether Bruce was playing Fruit Ninja seemed not to matter to Alfred as he turned around and walked towards the kitchen.

"I do not make a Fruit Ninja face," Bruce said in a matter of fact manner, finally exiting out of his game and placing his phone face down on the table. "I am a ninja by nature and ninjas do not make faces. Especially if they were to play Fruit Ninja—which I was not." He winked at Dick. Humor usually worked to get Dick out of a sulky mood.

Dick's mouth moved into an almost smile and Bruce inwardly cheered (there should be metals given out to parents who could get a teen who was intent on sulking to smile). A second later though, Dick slumped down in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "Dinner's not even on the table," he grumbled.

Alfred paused at the kitchen door and Dick raised his head slightly. He was simultaneously surprised that the man had heard his grumble and, yet, not surprised—Alfred's hearing was excellent despite his age and he seemed to be exceptionally good at deciphering grumbles (One would have to, though, having to deal with the deep rough voice of Batman over the years). "Although, that may be the case, Master Richard, the time before the meal is a time to _socialize_ with the person _in front_ of you."

"But I _neeeeeeeed_ my phone," said Dick and Bruce looked up to the ceiling in a 'god why me' fashion, bracing himself for the next leg of the fight. Alfred hated unnecessary whining.

"You most certainly _do not_ need your phone, not at this very moment," said Alfred giving Dick a hard look which Dick returned with a glare. "The definition of the word needed must have changed at some point over the years and I somehow must have missed the event, for I had neither any of the devices you _insist_ you _need_,nor did I partake in the social media you thrive on, yet I have managed to reach the age of sixty-four perfectly happy."

Dick's lips were pressed in a thin line and then he opened his mouth, looking like he was about to say something he probably should not.

Bruce decided to step in. "Dick," he warned.

"What?" snapped Dick turning to Bruce. With the teen's anger successfully shifted fully on Bruce which Bruce knew would happen, Alfred left. When Bruce did not say anything else, Dick chose to glare at the table.

Dick began muttering things under his breath that Bruce could not hear until his ears picked up one distinct sentence. "_I_ have important things to attend to as well."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "What important business ails your teenage mind that you most have your phone?"

Dick opened his mouth.

"Which has nothing to do with our _other_ pastime," add Bruce.

Dick closed it mouth and then after a moment gave a deep dramatic sigh.

"Arguing with Alfred about the phone at the table is futile. You _know _that Dick."

"You always tell me to never give up when I come across a challenge," said Dick smartly.

Bruce rubbed his temple and then looked at Dick evenly. "If Alfred could not be swayed by my arguments back in the day when cell phones could only do one important function, he most certainly is not going to be swayed by your arguments when phones can do a thousand frivolous ones."

"Not everything phones do are frivolous," said Dick throwing his hands in the air. "You want to do your taxes? There's an app for that."

"_I _ know that," said Bruce placing a hand on his chest trying to emphasize to Dick that he was on his side, "but at the table Alfred thinks they are. So, that is the end of that."

"That's not fair," said Dick more to himself than Bruce. Louder he said, "Maybe I'll come up with a phone so awesome that Alfred would have to let me have it at the table."

"I do not think that is possible." Bruce shook his head his head with a smile."I remember the first time I had accidently left my beeper in my pocket and it had gone off during dinner—"

"Beepers? Really, Bruce." Dick snorted. "You're _soooo_ old."

"I am not old. It was the early 90's . . ." Bruce paused and scratched his head. "God, that makes me sound old."

Dick nodded vigorously in agreement.

Bruce rolled his eyes. "_Anyway_, I tried to explain to Alfred how everyone had a beeper—"

Dick chuckled. "Beepers."

"Yes, beepers," said Bruce. Dick chuckled again and Bruce did not mind, it seemed the teen had come out of his moody funk. "You know, one day _you're_ going to be explaining to your kid how _awesome _the smart phone was and I hope they laugh at you."

"Okay, okay," said Dick waving Bruce on with a hand. "Regale me with tales of this fascinating artifact called the beeper."

"I was saying that my beeper went off and Alfred acted like the whole world was seconds away from dissolving into a savage wasteland."

Dick laughed at the image.

"And that was _just_ a beeper."

Dick laughed again. "Beepers."

With Dick smiling one more, Bruce was a little curious as to why Dick had made such a fuss about Alfred taking his phone in the first place. There were certain truths in the world—the earth moved around the sun and if you brought a phone to the dinner table there was a fifty percent chance Alfred would be taken away.

Bruce leaned in his chair and regarded Dick for a moment. The problem with teens, he had been finding out, was that they blew nothings into somethings and downplayed somethings into nothings which made finding out what to worry about all the more difficult since one could never tell if something was really something. "So . . ." Bruce ventured, "why do you _neeeeeed _your phone?"

"Barbara got a haircut."

Bruce blinked. So it really was a nothing that was blown up to a something. "Fascinating," he said dryly.

"Let me finish," said Dick straitening up in his seat and then leaning over. Bruce could tell he was in story teller mood. "So, Barbara got a haircut. It was bad, _reaaaaly_ bad. Josh McGrath made fun of her and Babs punched him—"

"Barbara Gordon?" asked Bruce surprised. Well, not surprised that Barbara would punch someone—she was a tough girl and knew how to take care of herself—but surprised that she had punched someone at school.

"Yes, Barbara Gordon. Is there any other Babs that matters?" said Dick bluntly, like what Bruce asked was the dumbest question ever.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, finding Dick's word choice very telling despite the teen not being aware of it. A crush perhaps?

"So Babs got suspended which is a not aster at all, because Barbara was partnered with Bette on a science project for next Saturday's Science fair, but now can't participate so Bette has to do the rest of the work herself—"

Bruce held up a hand to stop Dick from talking. "Breathe."

Dick to a deep breath and then continued. "So, Bette temporally dropped out of this Saturday's Mathlete tournament, because there's gonna be MIT reps at the fair and it's her only chance to impress them since her school record was tarnished, because she was caught plagiarizing on her English AP paper. Now, Bette's dropping out means that we're missing a person for the team, because our backups all have the flu. So Mr. Kinsley replaced her with Stanley Stodges, but Stanley is Henrietta's ex boyfriend. She's the one on the team with the pink hair, not the one who got caught at the coke party–"

"Coke party?" asked Bruce alarmed.

"Anyway," said Dick continuing with his story unaware of his guardian's alarm, "Felix, who is Henrietta's current boyfriend and is also on the team, flipped out because Stanley was hitting on Henrietta during today's practice and put a laxative in his soda—"

"What kind of people are you hanging out with?" asked Bruce not wanting to hear more.

Dick frowned, confused. "The same people I always do."

Bruce's eyebrows rose. What crazy things were going on at that school? He always had the impression that Dick's group of friends were good kids. They were Mathletes for Pete's sake!

"I need my phone back. I don't want to be out of the loop."

"School fights, plagiarizing, coke parties, love triangles, and now sabotage," said Bruce a deep frown settling on his face. "Maybe you are better being out of the loop."

Dick rolled his eyes. "Oh my god Bruce, I'm not _doing _anything. I'm just a curious bystander."

"Your school day sounds like an episode of _Degrassi_."

"You don't need to worry," said Dick a bit exasperated. When he did not see Bruce's frown lessen he continued. "Besides, Clark always says I need to act more my age," said Dick completely misconstruing what Clark really meant by that."Well, that's what I'm doing."

"The only thing you are succeeding in is giving me a headache," said Bruce.

"See, then I was doing it right," said Dick with a smile and then he wiggled his eyebrows.

Bruce chuckled deciding to let the issue rest for now (he did trust Dick to make the right decisions). However, he made a mental note to check in with the school to make sure Dick was not getting into any trouble and his grades weren't slipping.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading! Please review.<p> 


	5. Kenobi

It's been a long time, huh? It's short, but I hope you enjoy it.

Summary: Wherein 11 year old Dick tries to wheedle his way out of going to a Society event.

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><p>2008<p>

* * *

><p>"Dick!"<p>

Bruce's yell echoed up the stairs. With an annoyed sigh, Dick pressed pause on his video game and slipped off his bed, out of his room, down the hall, and stopped at the top of the stairs.

Bruce wore a tux. He eyed the pajamas his ward was wearing and frowned. "Why aren't you dressed. Alfred said you were dressed."

Dick mustered his most pitiful expression and looked sadly down at Bruce. "I don't feel good."

"Get dressed."

"But I don't feel good."

"You were perfectly fine an hour ago when you were scarfing down that pizza."

Dick put a hand on his stomach. "It must be food poisoning."

"_Richard."_

Dick slumped to his knees. "I think I'm dying, Bruce." He reached out towards his mentor. "You'll have to go on with out me."

Alfred emerged from the living room and looked up at the pre-teen. "He shan't be wining any Academy Awards soon."

"I think I see a light," said Dick falling on his back. "It's coming for me. Oh father who art in Heaven-"

Bruce folded arms across his chest. "Seriously, Richard!"

"_In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti_…"

"I retract my earlier statement," said Alfred an amused look on his face. "_That_ is quite creative."

"To you Bruce," said Dick weakly, "I bequeath my half eaten sandwich in the fridge. To you Alfred, my mother's locket."

"Why does Alfred get your mother's locket and I get a sandwich," said Bruce. He frowned. "It's not even a full sandwich at that."

Dick lifted his head up off the floor to glare properly at his guardian. "Alfred doesn't make me got to stupid Society Galas."

"Alfred makes me go to stupid Society Galas and so I make you go to stupid Society Galas."

"Way to throw me under the bus, Sir." Alfred quirked an elegant eyebrow at Bruce before disappearing back into the living room.

"Alfie, you know Bruce loves you!"

"Dick get dressed," said Bruce.

Dick stood up. "I don't want to go, though."

Bruce rubbed his temple which indicated to Dick he was tipping the line. "Richard," Bruce said patiently, "You know that being part of this family that we have certain social obligations and as my ward—"

Dick waved his hand slowly."This is not the ward you are looking for."

"Did you just try to Obi-Wan Kenobi me?"

"Did it work?" asked Dick hopefully.

* * *

><p>{An hour later}<p>

* * *

><p>"Stop scowling," said Bruce as he and Dick stood in the elevator that would take them to the floor where the Gala was being held.<p>

Dick looked hopelessly at his shiny leather shoes. "Sometimes I think you don't love me and you want me to die from boredom."

"Oh, you found me out," said Bruce adjusting a link on his cuff. "Now I must think of some other way."

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


	6. Career Day

I would think, because I haven't updated in awhile I would not get new reviews or new followers/favorite author/favorite story alerts, but every time I get a FF Alert it's for THIS story. So thank you to all my old reviewers/followers and hello to all the new.

ShadowMist62442 suggested another one with Clark. So here it is. Also, I couldn't resist another JL cafeteria scene. I had so much fun with it in Missing P. Epidemic.

**Summary: **Wherein no one thinks Clark is cool enough to do a school report on.

****I do not own anything DC related.****

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><p>2009<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Watch Tower Cafeteria<strong>

The Flash watched the glower on Batman's face with fascination. The Dark Night had just walked into the cafeteria and his attention was solely directed across the room at Superman and Robin. Robin was making wild hand gestures, clearly excited about whatever conversation he was in.

The Flash chuckled to himself and took a sip of his drink.

Black Canary took a seat next to Barry. "What's got you laughing?"

The Flash nodded towards Batman.  
>I<br>"Look at who he's glaring at."

Black Canary turned her head at the duo by the window.

"Dick's got a school project," explained the Flash. "One of those 'follow someone at work' things. So, Dick's going to join Clark at work tomorrow. I _do_ believe Bats is jealous."

Black Canary studied Batman for a moment and then turned back to Flash. "He _is._" She smiled. "It's sorta adorable."

"What's adorable?" asked John Stewart as he, Hal Jordan, and Martian Manhunter arrived at the table. They all took seats across from the other two heroes.

"Batman," said the Flash.

Martian Manhunter raised an eyebrow. "There is a lot of things that come to mind when I hear the name Batman. Adorable, is not one of them."

Black Canary quickly filled the three in.

Hal frowned. "Mild mannered reporter, Clark Kent," he scoffed. "_I_ had a cooler job than that. I was test pilot."

"The key word here is: _was_ a test pilot," said Black Canary.

"A career is a career," said Hal. "I'm sure he would not get a bad grade just because his report was based on an interview only." His shoulder's hunched a bit. "There was a time Robin thought that being a test pilot was cool."

John Stewart rolled eyes. "HE was nine. At that time, he also thought farts were funny."

"Anyway, we all have or have had far more interesting jobs than Clark." Hal pointed to the Flash."You're a CSI for Pete's sake. You hang out with dead bodies all day."

"Actually that's not specifically what I do—"

Hal pointed to Canary "You worked in Special Ops."

Canary looked at Hal like he was dumb. _"Sure_ I will just go ahead and spill classified details because I am asked _nicely_. All those hours in anti-interrogation techniques wasted. Who needs torture when you can get a pre-teen to do your dirty work?"

"But Hal is right," said Flash. "We all have or have had cooler jobs than Clark."

Everyone at the table nodded

YJYJYJYJ

**Daily Planet**

Clark looked out the glass door into the hallway that led to the bathroom and frowned. How long was Dick going to take in there? He slowly spun himself in his chair, looking uneasily around the bullpen at all his colleagues who were either stealing glances in his direction or flat out staring. He returned to his original position in front of his computer screen and looked up at the well dressed suited man standing next to him. "Bruce, can you please stop glaring at me. People are beginning to notice."

"I was not glaring at you. I am simply _looking_ at you. If I were to glare at you, you would know."

"Well, your _looking _does not make me feel _safe_. I certainly feel like you are glaring at me."

Bruce glared at him.

"Oh . . ."Clark loosened his tie and lean backwards in his chair uncomfortably. "You know, you did not have to come."

"No. No." Bruce looked around. "I want to be here to see what is so _special_ about the Daily Profit."

Clark was not going to mention that Bruce had been to the Profit before and had not been this irritated. Clearly, the fact that Dick had wanted to do his school report on him and not his guardian was ruffling the man's feathers. Clark had heard his fellow Leaguers talking in the cafeteria. Black Canary was right. It was adorable.

Clark smiled up at Bruce.

"I will stop glaring at you if you stop giving me those lovey-dovey eyes."

Clark ignored him. "Dina thinks it's adorable you are jealous of me."

"I'm _not_ jealous."

Clark made a noncommittal sound. Then, his expression turned thoughtful. "Did you know that everyone thinks it is weird that Dick thinks my job is cool?"

Bruce raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I _overheard_ them talking."

"Do you spend your days now eavesdropping on people's conversations?"

"Said the kettle to the pot."

Bruce gave a half shrug as if to say touché.

"My job," said Clark defensively, "is _interesting_, by the way."

"As compared to a fighter pilot," said Bruce. "One does not think in that way and then downgrade to a reporter."

"Hey! I do exciting things. Lois and I have done quite a few exposés. We've both won awards. And—I can't believe I'm saying this to win points—Lex luthor sees our reporting as a nuisance." He slapped his knee. "That's darn good reporting right there."

"The newspaper," said Bruce evenly, "is a dying medium."

Instead of being mad or annoyed Clark threw Bruce a good natured smile. "It's all right for fathers to be a bit jealous—"

"I am _not_ jealous. I am _intrigued_. This situation is a puzzle I will figure out."

Clark rolled his eyes. "There's no _mystery_ here, Detective. Dick just thinks I'm cooler than you."

It was nice to be able to say that out loud. Clark could remember the first time he met Robin. He had never met a kid so unfazed by the fact he was meeting Superman. Clark never considered himself vain in any manner, but it _had_ hurt a little. Especially, when he had seen how excited Robin had become when meeting Green Lantern, the Flash, Wonder Woman . . .

Actually, now that Clark was really thinking about it, Robin had been excited about meeting everyone, _but_ him.

Bruce folded his hands across his chest. "I am _not_ jealous. It simply does not make sense."

"So you're saying you would not be all prickly if Dick wanted to follow _you_ at work?"

"Dick likes going to work with me."

"In my defense, you don't even _like_ your job." Clark paused in thought. "What exactly is your job? You just show up to smile at meetings and charity functions and cut ribbons in front of new Wayne buildings." Clark pointed to himself. "My job is a lot more exciting than that."

"I travel around the world and meet interesting people at those meetings and events. Dick loves to travel. It's what his family did." Bruce straightened up. "Besides, Wayne Enterprises encompasses a broad range of industries and develops cutting edge technologies and pharmaceuticals—"

"Which occur due to people with job titles that _you_ technically do not have," said Clark a bit smug. "Thus, _technically_, my job is more exciting."

Bruce glared.

"Oh look," said Clark jovially turning to look at Dick who had just come through the door.

Dick headed towards the two men and before he reached them they both made a face.

"What are you wearing?" asked Clark.

"Cologne," said Dick simply. "It's called _Amore_."

Bruce cocked his head."Why—?"

Dick's attention suddenly shot behind the two as Lois came towards her desk, which was adjacent to Clark's. Dick grabbed his composition notebook and pen that had been sitting on Clark's desk. He stepped eagerly up to Lois. "Hi Miss Lane, can I interview you for class. It's for career day."

"_Hey_," said Clark. "What about _me_?"

Dick completely ignored him. It was like Clark had not even spoken.

Lois started rummaging in her drawer. "Sorry kid, I'm sort of busy."

Dick's shoulders slumped.

"You can just ask Clark," said Lois. "We do the same things."

"Yeah," said Dick giving Clark a dismissive wave, "but I bet _you_ do it better."

Bruce smirked at Clark. Clark frowned back.

Lois looked up at Dick's hopeful face and smiled. "You know what?" She said grabbing the press badge from her drawer. "I do have some time. To the break room!" She walked away with Dick following close behind her.

The two men watch him go.

"So . . ." said Clark slowly. "This entire time he was only using me to interview Lois?"

Bruce laughed. "Mystery solved."

"Sure, laugh it _all_ up," said Clark. He smirked at Bruce. "If Dick's getting crushes, you do realize what is heading your way in very short time, then?" He lowered his voice, so that only Bruce would be able to hear what he said next. "Watch as the Cape Crusader battles his most challenging foes yet: Teen hormones, Angst, and Planned Parenthood."

Bruce's face paled.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for Reading!<strong>


	7. Snowball Effect

Thanks for the reviews, follows, and favorites!

**CH.7: The Snowball Effect**- Wherein the dynamic duo have some winter fun and snowball out of control.

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything DC related**.

* * *

><p>Winter 2006—Dick is 10.<p>

* * *

><p>Snow crunched as the black BMW came to a perfect stop in front of Wayne Manor's front steps. Bruce stepped out of the driver's side in his dark suit and grey wool peacoat and grabbed his leather suitcase before slamming the door.<p>

As Bruce made his way up the marble steps, he paused. Some thing was not right. He felt it in the air. He sensed it in the pit of his stomach.

And then.

Bruce spun around as a snowball came hurling at his head. Stepping sideways to avoid it, he blocked another snowball with his briefcase. White chunks crumbled to the stairs, leaving a wet smear on its soft leather.

The bitter chill in the air warmed with Dick's laughter.

Bruce lowered his briefcase to see Dick pointing at him from behind snow-covered hedge.

"I almost got you!"

The words of protests on Bruce's lips died when he got a closer look at what his ward was wearing. Dick was wearing purple coat so dark that it looked almost black and so puffy that the arm Dick was not using to point at Bruce, stuck out at an angle instead of laying at his side. He was wearing equally puffy snow pants. Bruce's eyes lit up with silent laughter. "You look like a plum."

Dick's smile faltered slightly. He stopped pointing at Bruce and he shifted awkwardly, but it was more due to his confinement in the coat than embarrassment. "Alfred made me wear this," he said gesturing to himself, but instead his arms flopped at his side. "I'm wearing, like, seven layers under this. You would think Gotham was in Antarctica! But you know what, Bruce? It doesn't matter, cause I totally almost got you!"

Bruce quirked an eyebrow. "If you say so." He looked back at the Manor. "Dinner should be ready."

"I'm _soooo_ hungry."

Bruce turned back to see Dick walking towards the front door or, at least, that was what Bruce thought Dick was attempting to do. The boy was doing a strange waddle and he did not seem to be getting any closer. Bruce cocked his head. "Hey, Buddy, do you need some help there?"

"Nope," said Dick not really looking at Bruce as he concentrated on moving his legs. "I got this."

Bruce watched Dick _not_ get much closer over the next few minutes, a smile crept up his face with every passing moment. After Dick fell backwards on the snow and wiggled around like a turned over turtle, Bruce put his briefcase down and jogged over to Dick. By the time Bruce had reached him, Dick had stopped his wiggling, exhausted.

"I got this!" Dick yelled when Bruce peered down at him.

"Dick . . . you are **not** moving."

"I'm moving so fast that you can't see it. I got this!"

"Stop saying, 'I got this,' before Alfred hears you and has a conniption at the improper grammar," Bruce said, holding out a hand for Dick to grab.

Instead of grabbing Bruce's hand, Dick crawled away like an inchworm. He had gone about a foot when Bruce shook his head in exasperation. "Why are you being so stubborn."

"Said the kettle."

"Dick, just take my hand."

"Noooo." Dick tilted his head sideways so that his head was away from the snow. "A kid's got to have his dignity."

"If only you could see yourself . . ." Bruce trailed off in a smile. Wasn't Alfred always complaining they needed more candid pictures around the house? He took his phone out of his pocket and held it out to take a picture.

"Bruce why'd you go all quite. You're not taking a picture? Don't take a picture!" Dick wiggled around so he could see Bruce. "Nooo! You can't do that. Batman doesn't take pleasure in the suffering of innocent people."

Bruce slipped his phone back in his pocket, but only because he had already taken the picture. "You are not suffering." He walked towards Dick again and held out his hand. "Batman also doesn't mind helping the plums of Gotham."

Dick blue eyes settled on Bruce with a mighty glare. Then a smile broke his face and he laughed. "I will wash the Batmobile for a whole month—no, two months— voluntarily, no complaints, if you say that during patrol tonight."

"Maybe."

* * *

><p>Gotham Docks five days later<p>

* * *

><p>"Boss!"<p>

Antonio DeGorgio of the Pegliasco Mob family looked up from his inspection of a new shipment of guns to see one of his grunts running his way into the warehouse.

"I just got done seeing Franco at County. I gotta tell you somethin' he overheard some guy say. This guy had a guy who said he heard the Bat say he was helpin' the plums of Gotham."

DeGorgio raised a scruffy eyebrow. "Plums of Gotham?"

"Yeah, Boss. Franco couldn't make sense of it. "

DeGorgio stroked his chin. "Perhaps, Batman's aligned himself with a new ally . . ."

"Like a new group of heroes in Gotham?"

"Whatever it is, we best stay away from it. Maybe it's time we set up shop elsewhere. Some city with no hero guarding it," said DeGorgio. A few of the grunts around him nodded. It was best to avoid the Bats attention as much as possible. "I'll notify Pegliasco."

* * *

><p>Goshen, New Jersey<p>

23 days later

* * *

><p>Perry Plum, 70 year old owner of the Perry's Plums, farmer and distributor of delicious organic Beach Plums and plum products, looked at the very intimidating looking men in black blocking the exit of his store. "He looked at the other man in black in front of him. "When did you Health Inspectors get so serious?"<p>

"We are not Health Inspectors," said the man in black. He flashed his FBI badge, before stuffing the badge back into his suit. "My team keeps tabs on vigilantes and superpowered persons. There has been chatter saying you know Batman. Who is he?"

Mr. Plum scratched his white hair. "Sonny, I don't know what you're talking about."

"You are the biggest east coast distributor of the _Prunus maritima_ also known as the Beach plum**."**

"Yes I am," said Mr. Plum proudly. "Been farming Beach plums most my life and now my grandkids—"

"Batman was overheard saying that he, and I quote, 'doesn't mind helping the Plums of Gotham." The man in black eyes narrowed. "Your company makes substantial sales in Gotham and your eldest daughter, Elizabeth Plum, lives in Gotham."

Mr. Plum shrugged. "What can I say? Gotham loves its Beach plum jam. My Lizzy has done a good job with marketing over there." Mr. Plum waved to one of his grandsons who was stocking jams on a nearby shelf. "Bring these fellas some jam!" He looked back at the man in black. "Do you like peppercorn crackers?"

The man in black ignored him. "Why would Batman say he was helping the Plums of Gotham?"

"I don't—"

"Do you have an arrangement with him for protection?"

"I said I don't—"

"If you have any information regarding the vigilante Batman you must tell us."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Mr. Plum glared. He picked up his cane laying on a nearby box and waggled it at the other man. "And if your going to be rude, you can just leave here and not get any jam at all. Now do you like peppercorn crackers you whipper snapper?"

* * *

><p>Gotham, 5 days later<p>

* * *

><p>Commissioner Gordon stood in a blocked section of Broad and Third Street watching police go in and out of <em>Jared.<em> The jewelry story had been held hostage thirty minutes prior. Thankfully, Batman and Robin had intervened before anyone was hurt.

"Commissioner," said Batman from behind him.

Gordon startled. "I hate when he does that," he mumbled, before turning around to look at the Dark Knight. Noticing Robin, he gave the kid a soft smile which Robin returned. Looking back at Batman, he said, "Now that danger has passed, I need you to clarify something for me."

Batman nodded.

"What or who are the plums of Gotham?"

Robin smiled widely, but when the Commissioner turned to him, he schooled his face into a neutral expression.

"Why do you need to know?" said Batman.

"Well, for starters, there is a lot of underground chatter going on about plums for some reason."

Robin cleared his throat to hide a laugh.

"Also, it's rumored that the Pegliasco Mob moved operations elsewhere because of it, which is great. However, the FBI has been harassing poor Mr. Plum. He's the owner of that plum company of that plum jam in all the markets." Gordon folded his arms. "Well, he's threatening to stop selling here, because the FBI thinks he knows you and he's tired of the harassment."

Batman turned to Robin, his face hidden away from a Gordon, with an expression that clearly said: this is all your fault and do not dare laugh.

"So, what did you mean when you said what you said, if you said that at all."

There was silence for a moment. Robin was curious to what Batman would come up with. Batman could not say it was a joke. That would be all sorts of unprofessional.

Batman turned back to Gordon. "It is an acronym. It means . . ." Batman paused.

"People," said Robin loudly.

"Yes, people," said Batman, smoothly picking up Robin's assist, "living under malevolence strive."

Robin looked at Batman in amazement at his quick thinking, trying hard not to laugh.

Gordon stroked his chin. "People living under malevolence strive?"

Robin nodded. "Yes, you see . . . Batman felt the word victim was too strong."

"It has a negative undertone," said Batman carrying on like they both were not fabricating a story on the spot. "The violence is done and there is no fight left in a person. However, PLUMS, tells a story. A story that is not finished. People choose to stay in this city, despite the crime, because the will not give up on this city, they will not surrender, they will live. They may be victimized, but they are not victims."

Gordon cocked his head. "The people of Gotham are plums and you help them?"

Batman nodded.

Robin nodded vigorously then turned to the crowd gathered on the other side of the street behind the police barricade. "Did you hear that?" he said in a loud voice. "Batman says that Gothamites might be victimized, but they are not victims! We stay in this city, because we love it, and we will fight for it! We are Gotham strong! People living under malevolence strive . . . we strive for what?"

"Justice!" a man shouted.

"Hope!" a woman said.

"Love," another man said.

"A better future!" a kid shouted.

"We're PLUMS," said Robin proudly, ignoring Batman's new look which clearly said: do not turn this into a Thing. "We are all PLUMS and we will not give up on each other or this city!" He raised a fist and started pumping it in the air." PLUMS! PLUMS! PLUMS!"

The crowd outside the barriers started cheering along. "PLUMS! PLUMS! PLUMS!"

Gordon looked at a loss for a moment as he looked at the crowed. "I suppose we're plums now," he said lamely.

Later, as Batman and Robin walked away, chants of PLUMS following them, Batman shook his head. Robin had a broad smile on his face. "This is the best day ever!"

"Why did you have to turn this into a Thing?"

"It's inspiring and it's not a _Thing_ . . . yet," said Robin seriously. "I've never been so proud of being a plum!"

"That sounds ridiculous," said Batman, though he did not mind if Robin's speech galvanized the crowd to help their community. He sighed. "This is going to turn into a Thing. Yes, it's a positive message, but the country is not going to hear that message. They will only hear Gotham calling itself fruit. It's bad PR."

"No one is going to think that."

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><p>Metropolis, 1 day later<p>

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><p>The chant of "We are PLUMS!" could be heard as Clark Kent walked into the Daily Planet carrying coffee. Jimmy and Lois greeted him and both removed their coffees from the cardboard drink holder. "Why are people shouting that they are plums on TV?"<p>

"I don't know," said Jimmy dismissively. "It's Gotham. Evil clowns, a guy made of mud, a man penguin . . . weird things are always going on there."

"Probably some new fetish," answered Lois. "Weirdoes, the lot of them."

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><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


	8. PLUMS 2: The Invasion

Thanks for the reviews! And thank you to my old and new readers. And thanks to those who pointed out I had Clark working at the Daily Prophet instead of the Daily Planet. It has been fixed. Talk about your fandoms mashing up.

**Summary: **The problem with invading Gotham . . . .

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything DC related**

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><p>Winter 2017(11 years after the creation of PLUMS)<p>

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><p>YJYJYJYJ<p>

Zwerk was a cold planet, its temperature never rose above zero degrees Celsius. Its inhabitants were furry orange beings with lankey legs, sturdy torsos, and humanoid heads with many teeth. They came to earth with a small invasion party which held a handful of soldiers, General Wuk, and King Launk, third son of the Emperor of Zwerk. Though their numbers were small, their weaponry was far superior to earths. The greatest weapon: glowing orbs which could quell the spirit into blind obedience or total ignorance. There invasion began in Maine as the Zwerkians felt its temperatures were closer to their own and state was smaller than Canada or Russia. Once Maine fell, its government and residents completely unaware and blissfully ignorant, the subsequent Northeastern States of the Union fell to them like dominoes.

Until they reached one city.

"Prepare more orbs," said King Launk stroking his silky fury on his chin in pleasure. He sat on a gilded throne in the middle of the space ship hovering above Manhattan completely undetected by its chic urbanites. They had gained control of all the minds of New York State over an hour ago. New Jersey was all done. The invasion was going great. "We will save the Mid Atlantic for later. We hit Ohio next. General Wuk, do you agree?" When King Launk received no response, he turned around. "General Wuk?"

General Wuk stood before three large holographic panels. Without turning around he said, "We have a problem. We do not have all control of New Jersey, yet. The orbs aren't working." He turned to his king. "I've sent several to Gotham and none are working."

King Launk shot out of his throne. "How is that possible?" He pointed to the General. "Take me there!"

YJYJYJYJYJYJ

When Lakeisha Smith walked out of _7 Eleven_, her mouth dropped. "Girrrrl," she said into the phone her right hand was holding. "I'm gonna have to call you back. Some crazy mother just walked out a space ship."

"Don't be playin.'"

"I'm serious. You know how crazy Gotham is. Guy looks like a cat that fell in a container of cheese puffs." Lakeisha hung up.

Since the spaceship had come to a stop above the brown stone buildings in the area and King Launk stood in the middle of the road, traffic had come to a stop. A few people had stepped out of their cars.

People were pouring out of buildings into the street.

King Launk raised his hand. "People of Gotham. I am King Launk of Zwerk, son of Emperor—"

"Man," said a teen standing at the bus stop across from the 7 eleven, "ain't nobody give a crap who you are."

"I have conquered your fellow northern states," continued Launk. "Our weaponry renders your military useless. I am now your ruler."

"Oh, hell no!" yelled a woman from an apartment window. "You ain't no ruler of me. Who do you think you are?"

King Launk bristled. "I just said that I am King—"

Two loud and long honks coming from a blue sedan cut him off. A man's head poked out of the driver's side window. "Hey crap for brains! Move out of the way, your blocking traffic!"

Another honk, this time from a yellow corvette. "Yeah, get your harry ass out of the way."

King Launk glared. "What is wrong with you people?" He waved at his space ship. "Do you not see how superior we are to your primitive society?"

A loud laugh came from a pretty blonde standing in front of a hair salon. "Oh, you can make space ships, but you can't figure out how to create Nair or razors?"

"Yeah," said the man in the blue sedan, "he's got more hair than my cousin Vinney!"

"Orbs!" King Launk flung out his arm and hundreds of tiny orbs flew out of the space ship to hover around the crowd of people. They began to glow. "Now, you are mine."

There was a long silence. After a moment, some people began to look at each other.

"Was that supposed to do something," said Lakeisha.

"I don't know," said a twenty something male leaning on the 7 eleven door. "I'm still trying to figure out if I'm really stoned."

The blue sedan's engine revved and then it began to move forward. It drove around the King and down the road. The other cars started doing the same.

The King curled his fists. "Why isn't it working!" He glared at the people of Gotham. "It should be controlling your minds!"

"Dude," said the blonde in front of the salon. "Do you know how many times we all have gotten beamed or drugged over the years with something that affects our mind? We're practically immune."

"Why are you not afraid!"

Laughter erupted. After a moment, the laughter started to die down.

"Oh, he's serious," someone in a crowd said.

"Man," said the teen at the bus stop. "You're in Gotham. You aren't scary. The Joker, now the Joker, **he **is scary."

"The King waved his hand in dismissal. "It is no matter. My orbs will take the rest of the cold states and I will send your own army against this city."

"Bring it!" shouted someone. A few cheers broke out.

"Do you have no concept of fear, you ignorant beasts?"

"You can't beat Gotham," said a male voice from within the crowd. "Because Gotham is filled with Plums."

The King blinked.

A hand belonging to the male voice rose up in a fist. "Plums! Plums! Plums!"

"PLUMS! PLUMS!PLUMS!" yelled the people crowding the streets.

The King frowned. "I think the translator is broke," he said into his com link. "Are you getting this? They are calling themselves fruit. Am I correct? A plum is a fruit?"

"According to our data of the Earthlings," said one of the technicians in the space craft, "a plum is an indehiscent fruit in which an outer fleshy part surrounds a shell, the pit, seed inside. It is sometimes dried and called a prune. Prunes are used as a laxative."

"The translator is working properly," said another technician.

The King looked out at the crowd.

"We are PLUMS! We are PLUMS!"

The King took a step back. "The orbs must not be working on account that these earthlings have a mental defect."

"Our data could be wrong," said the General in the ship. "What if the orbs do not work, because they are not earthlings, but another alien species assuming the physical appearance of earthlings? Perhaps Plum is the name of their Planet? It would make more sense as to why they do not fear us."

"I was not aware another species had claimed this territory," said the King growing more and more troubled. His people could not afford a war. They were stealthy conquers and their orbs could only do so much. He pointed out to the crowed. "People of Plum, who do you answer to?"

The chants of PLUMS died down. "Sometimes the mayor," mumbled somebody and there was laughter.

"Batman!" shouted the male voice which had started the chants of PLUMS. "We answer to Batman!"

There were yells, claps, and whistling. "Batman! Batman! Batman!"

The King frowned.

YJYJYJYJ

Batman had a list of nightmares he never wanted to come to life. One of them was having the entire Justice League's minds controlled. Sure, it had happened before, but he had never wanted it to happen again.

And now it had. Worst, from what he had gathered, the military would be of no help, because the aliens just kept making them forget they were there.

Batman sat in a cell with the rest of the Justice League, excluding Martian Manhunter who was on Mars taking care of some business. Everyone, save for Batman, had expressions of complete contentment. It was as if they were watching a feel-good movie in their heads. Batman was the only one in the room chained, because for some reason the mind control did not work on him. For the last few hours, he had been trying of ways to escape. He had not thought of anything yet, but it was only a matter of time.

The door to the cell creaked open, King Launk appeared. "Batman, I know your true identity."

Batman swallowed.

"You should have told me when we took you and your comrades in, that you were the King of Plum."

Batman blinked. "_Richard_," he mumbled in exasperation. He looked to Launk for any hint of teasing. King Launk face was grave.

"You are the King of Plum?"

Batman cleared his throat. "Yes, I am . . . the King of Plum. How did you come by this information?"

"Your people call for you. Why did you not announce your presence?"

Batman straightened his shoulders, or as much as he could being confined as he was. "I did not inform you, because it should have been known." He said playing along to whatever Nightwing's crazy idea was. "I thought you did not care and this was an act of aggression on my people."

The King waved his hands passively. "No. No" he chuckled and waved at a guard to remove Batman from his chains. "Mistakes were done. We do not want war with anyone."

"Then why make war on Earth?"

"Why . . . no one cares about earthlings!" Launk laughed as if Batman had made a joke. "But if you claim earth as your own. Then, we will let you be."

Free from the chains, Batman rubbed his wrists. "Yes, I do claim earth . . ." he sighed, he was going to strangle Dick later. "In the name of Plum," he said managing not to roll his eyes.

The king nodded. "Then I will call my father and we will leave your planet. We want no fight with you. Your people our strong with courage and are a prideful bunch. No doubt war would be drawn out."

YJYJYJ

The Zwerks left. The people who had crowded the Gotham street earlier had gone about their business, save for one man. The man who had shouted PLUMS first, Richard Grayson.

Batman stood in the street where the Zwerks had dropped him off.

Dick walked up to him. "Oh my god, Batman! I've always wanted to meet you!"

Batman's eyes narrowed.

"Don't be such a grumpy goose." Dick smirked. "Can I get your autograph? I can _totes_ get a lot of money from Ebay."

"That was an unorthodox, yet clever plan."

Dick quirked an eyebrow. "What plan?"

"The plan were you got the aliens to think I was the King of the Plums, an alien race they do not want war with."

Dick frowned. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You did not tell him I was the King of the Plums."

"I'm sorry I didn't hear you."

""You did not tell him I was the King of the Plums."

"You were what?"

"I'm King of the Pl—" Batman's eyes narrowed. Dick was smiling. He clearly had heard him before.

Dick laughed. "I didn't know you were the King of the Plums," Dick wheedled. "Seems like a huge responsibility, hope it doesn't affect your nightly escapades."

"Eleven years. I cannot believe _PLUMS_ is still a _thing_."

"Are you mad at plums, because you are really a melon? You know, tough skin on the outside, but soft on the inside?" Dick smiled at Batman's glare. "In all honesty, PLUMS was not some clever plan to get you out. After the League went to check out the disturbance the Watch Tower was picking up, Superman made the call that it was all clear and nothing to worry about—"

"He was being mind controlled."

"I know that _now_," said Dick. "Anyway, I came downtown to see a movie and, low and behold, I come across a space ship. I just became part of the crowd. People were riled up. I thought it was a good time as any to shout PLUMS."

"There is never a good time to shout PLUMS."

Dick gasped. His face drawn in horror. "How can you say that, you're the King of Plums!"

"I'm going to strangle you."

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><p>YJYJYJ<p>

Thanks for reading! That is enough PLUMS stories for now. I am working on some more father son family focused one shots for future chapters.


	9. TV vs Homework

Thanks to all my readers. There were some really great chapter suggestions. A few people mentioned having a PLUMS appearance with the YJ or League in a chapter. I will do it down the line. It just tickles me that PLUMS was enjoyed.

**Discalimer:** I do not own anything in the DC universe and I definitely do not own YJ, because if I did, we would still have the show.

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><p>{Dick is 11}<p>

Dick sat in the entertainment room of Wayne Manor staring glassy-eyed at the big screen television. He wore pajamas and had one leg, the foot wrapped in a white cast, resting on a leather ottoman. The injury was a gift, courtesy of Lady Gotham's seedy criminal underground.

When Dick had been with his parents he had watched very little television. Traveling with the circus, left little time for frivolous activity. He was too busy practicing acrobatics and when he was not practicing, he and the other kids made their own fun.

It had been two years since his parents' death. Two years of living at Wayne Manor. Yet, the television still gave Dick a thrill of enjoyment. So engrossed was he that he did not hear Bruce call him three times or see him walk in.

"Dick!"

"Hmm," Dick mumbled glancing at Bruce.

"Did you do your homework already?"

Dick nodded and turned back to the TV.

It was a lie. He had done none of it. No, that was not true, he had done one math problem. The only reason Dick tolerated school was that Bruce took his grades into consideration when determining whether he could patrol Gotham with him. Since Robin was not fit for duty and would not be for a few months, Dick felt he was on a vacation of sorts.

"All of it?"

"Yes."

"So, if I were to check it—"

Dick's head whipped around. "You don't need to check it. Alfred checked it."

Bruce's eyes narrowed, suspicious.

Dick could feel Bruce mentally saying to himself, _well that's convenient_. Alfred had left that afternoon, catching a plane to London to visit family. With the plane up in the air, Bruce could not call Alfred. His phone would be turned off.

"I want to check it all the same."

"You don't have to though. You're _really_ busy."

"I'm never too busy for you."

Dick frowned. The statement would have been comforting if it had not been said in such an ominous way. He glanced at the clock. The clock showed the time to be half passed nine. Batman would be patrolling Gotham soon.

Dick shrugged. "Who knows Bruce, there might be some sorta emergency. I'd hate to take Batman away from the citizens of Gotham."

"If there is an emergency, I will deal with it when it happens."

"I don't know, Bruce. What if aliens attack and Superman's like, 'Batman I need you,' and you're so preoccupied with my homework that the world gets taken over."

"At no point do I see that happening."

"AND a giant battle for the earth takes place and when the League comes by and demands why you didn't help, you will be forced to say: 'gee guys, I had to check Robin's homework, even though he totally told me I didn't have too.'"

"Richa- "

"AND I know what you're thinking, Bruce—this is obviously an attempt at stalling—but it is not." Dick looked Bruce dead in the eye, his face serious. "My math homework is so neatly done it's a work of art. My essay for English has such literary finesse that Hemingway would weep. The answers to my science homework can only indicate me as pure genius. And _that_, Bruce is what will captivate you. Like a spell you will not be able to put my homework down. You will marvel at the beginnings of my social studies final project. What is the next wonder of the world? Why, it's a little something called my homework. It's museum quality. Years from now people will travel miles—"

Bruce walked away with an irritated growl.

Dick waited until he heard the living room grandfather clock, the secret passage to the Batcave, slide open and shut, before smiling to himself.

Dick knew he excelled in many things, but no one could stall better than him. For the show did not always start on time and what kind of ex-circus brat would he be if he did not know how to entertain a crowed or distract a very grumpy single man who probably needed to party more. Dick settled himself in the couch, turning the volume up on the show he had been following.

"_I have something to tell you," said the pretty actress on the TV. She grabbing the shoulders of an FBI Agent._

"_What?"_

"_You must listen closely, this is very important. Everyone's lives, our very futures, depend on it." She looked up dramatically as erie piano music began to play. "They're not dead."_

"_Whose not dead?"_

"_The—"_

The TV screen went black. The sound disappeared.

Dick's mouth dropped. "Oh my god!" He brought his hands to his checks. "Oh my god, whose not dead?" He futilely pressed the buttons on the remote. "No. No. No! Whose not dead? Stupid cable connection!"

Dick almost stood up in alarm, but the pain in his leg, forced him back down on the couch. "This can't be happening!"He slammed an angry finger on the power button. The screen turned on. "YES!"

The screen lit up to a pops of static. Then, the screen grew bright with only white light. A batman emblem appeared as if the emblem itself was coming from the shadows into the light.

"What?" Dick mouth silently to himself in disbelief, awe, and indignation. To the ceiling, he shouted:"Like, who has a homework avoidance contingency plan!"

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><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


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